


boy, better treat me with respect

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Multi, dan's the superstar, friends somewhere in the middle, phil's the late night host, well enemies for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: “So, scheduled guest for Monday is Dan Howell and he’ll be performing two songs off his album - I think it’s that one he collabed on with Kendrick?Sicksong, mate.” Ben clutches his clipboard with absolute glee and has thatteenage-girl-I-Stan-Howelllook in his eye and what the fuck, honestly.Or, the one where Phil hosts Late Late and Dan's the one guest he really can't shake off.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh welll this started as entirely self-indulgent but it has evolved to?? wanting you guys to like it as much as i do?? this was inspired by jc, and this wonderful [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129558). any similarities dan has to a certain curly-haired, dimpled, British popstar is completely out of my control. the heart wants what it wants.
> 
> brockhampton's gold is the title.
> 
> enjoy!

 

Phil Lester is just about done with taping their fourth episode when Assistant Producer Ben - or shall Phil predict now:  _former_ Assistant Producer Ben, if Phil has any say in it - delivers him a bombshell.

(Not only for his shit timing - Phil’s already running late to dinner with his mum and just remembered he forgot to water Thor earlier - but it’s the way Ben says it, too, like the _Mona Lisa of nonchalance_ , that pisses Phil off even _more_ about the whole situation.)

“So, scheduled guest for Monday is Dan Howell and he’ll be performing two songs off his album - I think it’s that one he collabed on with Kendrick? _Sick_ song, mate.” Ben clutches his clipboard with absolute glee and has that _teenage-girl-I-Stan-Howell_ look in his eye and what the fuck, honestly.

“What the fuck, honestly,” he says, rubbing useless circles into the sides of his temples in an attempt to soothe the brewing ache. He’s really got no time for this, twenty minutes late for his reservation in East London, but if he doesn’t throw a tantrum _now_ , it’ll be  _too late._

Ben frowns. “Ok, you could really do with more enthusiasm here. Your show - your brand _spanking_ new talk show in its first season - is about to feature the most acclaimed British export since like.…The Spice Girls - _rest in peace babes_ \- and you’re like.” Ben gestures towards Phil’s hands crossed on his chest, tense shoulders, his general non-smileyness.

Phil huffs. “Oh, just because I don’t _worship_ the ground Dan Howell’s been on - _Christ_ \- why’d he agree to this then? How much are we paying him?”

 _Not much_ , Phil reckons. Their show is barely a quarter of the way through its first season, and being a talk show on air past midnight only attracts certain demographics - namely, the stoned uni students and insomniacs of Britain. How that bubble intersects with Dan Howell’s huge international fanbase in the Venn diagram of life is _beyond_ Phil.

Ben tuts.

“Get that stick outta your arse, Lester. This is the _best_ thing that could happen to your show! Imagine the ratings!” Ben looks two minutes from fainting due to sheer giddiness. “Maybe we’ll get bumped up to _late_ instead of _late late_ , if Howell becomes a recurring guest.”

“ _Recurring_?” Phil deadpans. No, no, _no_ , over his dead fucking body.

“Yeah! Like, dunno,” he eyes Phil suspiciously, “provided _you’re_ nice enough to him at least.”

Phil mumbles an exasperated default “I’m _always_ nice” but Ben’s giving him this _look_ \- like challenging him to _actually_ be a twat to the world’s biggest teeny bopper pop star - and Phil sighs again, Christ. He’d like to think he’s badass and all that, but having a horde of Dan Howell fans (teen girls, teen boys, Mums, Dads, old Nans in their rocking chairs) berate him on Twitter if he so much as _utters_ blasphemous words against their lord and saviour is less than appealing. Especially if he wants stray away from unemployment and shamefully moving back home to the Isle of Man.

Shit, he thinks, as his phone rings the Totoro theme song - Mum had _insisted_ on it - and hurries a quick goodbye to Ben, who’s predictably still engrossed in his clipboard, and to the rest of the staff on set. He usually would go round to shake all their hands before leaving - to show his eternal gratitude, but also honestly to convey a _thanks for helping me keep a steady income_ \- but Mum’s probably on her third breadstick now.

“Early on Monday, yeah? We’re meeting the superstar!” Ben calls out as he’s almost out the door, and he’s grateful the door shuts before Phil’s flipping him off.

 

-

 

For a show that’s on at half past midnight, there’s quite a lot of effort that goes into it.

Hair and makeup is first, in which Phil is regularly smeared with Fenty Beauty foundation and extra bronzer because being naturally pale and constantly under the intense beam of studio lights tend to make him look like part of the undead. (If the daily tweets from fans with various Walking Dead gifs are _anything_ to go by, that is.)

Then comes the read-through of the script with Phil making the occasional edit, and occasional glare in Paul’s direction when he comes across a joke a little too _risque,_ even for the British druggies. Actually _especially_ for them. (“Do we _need_ to mention boobs in every skit? We’re literally only talking about _baby sloths bath time_ here.”)

Afterwards, he spends at least two hours agonising over his fringe - or more specifically, the persistent splinges in them - and tries to find some time to sneak a third coffee in between, all whilst scoping out the musical act and trying to figure out if Ben and Paul are shagging after all.

(Which they _are._  He’s sixty five percent sure.)

On Monday - the one he has aptly titled _DOOMSDAY_ on his calendar- he does all that as per usual, but in varying degrees. All to avoid running into a certain someone. Especially when it’s _that_ someone with a last name that rhymes with a wolf’s mournful cry into the empty void. That someone who, according to a blurb in _Variety_ last month, sings like an angel and has skin as smooth as a baby’s bum.

Yes: he shamelessly tries to waste as much time as possible on Doomsday. So what.

For instance, he tries to take extra long in hair and makeup by convincing Hairdresser Fabrice to painstakingly check for grey hairs because he’s _sure_ some fans picked up on that in the last show. Which ends up backfiring when Fabrice ups and leaves after Phil’s requested fifth check, and by the end, Phil’s a) probably lost his hairdresser and b) only wasted an extra ten minutes. _Great._

He takes twice as long critiquing their script before Paul cracks and asks him to _fucking write it himself if he thinks he’s so great_ , and Phil takes extra care in talking Paul (and Ben, too, by extension of coitus) out of his fit and back to the writer’s room where they rewrite a large chunk of it all. They make a great team where it counts, and for all Phil’s ministrations, the script ends up ten times funnier than before - and not for the first time, Phil’s thinks he’s got the best job in the world.

Later, as he’s shucking off his black dress shirt in lieu for a light blue one to bring out his eyes ( _not for Dan Howell, not for Dan Howell_ ) there’s a short rap on his dressing room door. It’s _unusual_ , Phil thinks, for anyone to call him out of his ‘rest and meditation’ routine for the hour before they start taping - where all he _honestly_ does is sit down and watch cute cat videos and practice his script over the phone to PJ - but the entire _day_ has been unusual thus far so he doesn’t question it.  

Nor does he think to put a shirt on in that time period.

“Hello,”  _fucking Dan Howell_ smirks from his place leaning against the door jamb, where he’s in front of a very shirtless Phil, openly gaping and quite possibly drooling from the corner of his mouth.

Because right in front of him is Dan Howell: black button up, sequined jacket, _very_ well-fitting trousers that accentuate his hips and _thighs_ \- Christ, he’d absolutely _wreck_ them if he had a chance. Which, no. No, he will not have a chance to live out his dirtiest fantasies because this is _Dan Howell_ _._ And underlining the fact in his head makes _all_ the difference _._

“Guh,” he manages to get out amidst the mess in his head.

Phil says the first thing that comes to mind, which is, of _course_ it is, the worst thing in existence.

He blurts out, “Sorry, you are?”

 _Abort, abort, ABORT_. What does that even mean??? Fucking hell, spontaneity is like the most important skill as a fucking show host and yet, he’s making a right twat of himself - when he hadn’t actually meant to! Christ, this is _it_ : the show’s going to get cancelled, he’s going to have to move himself and his hypoallergenic tabby cat Rory out of their shabby flat and -

Dan Howell’s face falls, infinitesimally, before the usual smirk dons his lips again. He raises an eyebrow. The _Death_ of Phil Lester. “Y’know, you should make it a habit to learn the names of your musical acts. Would make life _much_ easier for you.” He clicks his tongue at the end.

Phil bites back a sassy retort, _sure, like_ you _know anything about hosting._

(Which would be incorrect, technically, because Phil’s pretty sure he stayed up till the ass crack of dawn two years ago to watch Dan practically _charm_ his way through the Oscars, schmoozing those celebrities across the pond and making even _Oprah -_ and a certain budding British comedian curled up on his sofa with his fat orange cat - go all unfortunately gooey-eyed for him.)

Phil schools his face into something more polite and acceptable. He belatedly realises he’s _still_ shirtless but makes no attempt to rectify it. Don’t show your weakness; the best defense is a good offense; other similar motivational quotes. Though, he doesn’t really think his semi-solid biceps and love handles would _offend_ anyone, least of all demigod Dan.

He laughs it off. “Nah, mate, just joking with you!” He puts on his on-camera smile. “Hi, Dan Howell. I’m Phil. Thanks for coming on the show!”

God, he thinks if fakery had a smell, he’d be reeking of it. Dan doesn’t seem to notice, though, and grips the palm Phil’s extended out. His fingers are warm, warm, warm, and Phil can see his dimples well enough where they’re creased in his cheeks.

“Hey, I remember you from Youtube! You’re one of the dinosaurs on there, aren’t you?”

And okay, Rude. Also, _weird_ since most people don’t recognise him off his aged Youtube channel - Christ, he might be able to send it off to Year Three soon enough - when he’s been on British television since he hit it big with the sketch show that was on Saturdays at half seven. His Youtube was more of his niche audience - the ones who _really_ get him and his random jokes and helpless optimism - and for Dan Howell to have once been a part of that - well, he’s _fucked_ isn’t he?

“Uh,” he says, very eloquently, “Youtube was ages ago, though, and - well, I much prefer the audience engagement that comes with television. S’not like living in a bubble like on the Internet, yeah? I get to have actual _two_ -way conversations here which is...nice,” Phil finishes lamely.

To his credit, Dan doesn’t seem as bored as Phil would expect considering Phil lectured him important philosophical comparisons when all he did was comment on Phil’s past hobby. In a sort-of insulting way. In fact, Dan looks fairly interested in the sentiment. He nods curtly, makes his way to the well worn couch in the corner and stretches his legs as he sits. Like making himself right at home, despite Phil glaring daggers his way.

Dan smirks. “Do you also make it a point to prance about half naked in front of your guests?” Dan shifts into Indian style on the couch and reaches over to peer in his coffee mug. “Black, ew, uncultured.” Three words that would probably be offensive to a quarter of the world’s population - what a nice guy.

“Well, when you have a demanding job like _mine,_  then you’d understand the need for strong caffeine at all hours of the day,” Phil says, without filter, effectively kicking himself in the face. “Not that - _fuck_ \- not that your job isn’t _stressful_ or anything - I just,” Phil rambles in what he hopes is in a relatively sympathetic tone but Dan’s grin makes Phil think that he can see right through him. Which is bad, of course, because if Dan Howell gets angry, Dan Howell will leave - and Dan Howell will talk shit about Philip Michael Lester until his dying breath. Phil can see the progression of events play out in his head and he shivers considerably. Also, possibly because he’s _still_ shirtless and it’s like Dan brought his iciness with him into the dressing room. Whoops, his nips are hard.

Phil rambles on. “I’m going to,” jerks his thumb towards the clothes rack, “uh, look more presentable. Your Highness. The King. Pop Royalty. Sir.”

Dan laughs out loud at that, throws his head back to bare his pale neck - _biteable_ , Phil can’t help but notice - and makes a show out of covering his eyes as Phil buttons up the sea blue shirt over his torso. Dan beckons him over when Phil’s done, jokingly - but his voice heady and intense - asks him to spin around while he sizes Phil appraisingly.

“I’m no Tim Gunn but hot _damn_ , my royal boy slave. You look positively smashing, _darling,_ ” Dan laughs, and Phil shrugs it off, hey, _don’t objectify me, you dick._ Because it’s not like Dan’s flirting with him on _purpose_ anyway. It’s more likely a peace offering for calling Phil old within two minutes of conversation. And making fun of his coffee - a crime less easily forgiven.

Phil can’t help but wonder what Dan’s actually doing in here to begin with. Musical guests usually are practising their, well - _music_ on the big stage, spending ages fiddling with the lighting and making their frazzled-looking assistants fetch them _organic water_ or whatever. What they _don’t_ typically do, though, is: hang around the nerdy host in a dingy dressing room and attempting small talk.

Then again, Dan Howell probably _hates_ to be typical - and instead prefers better to charm the pants off anyone in his path, sing his arse off to his frankly _overplayed_ bops, and consistently leave his audiences a little bit more in love with him than before.

“Who’s that foxy red head in the picture? Your _giirrrllfriendd?_ ” Dan gasps childishly, after awhile of randomly ranting about his distaste for fresh fruit. Phil - sat next to him now and desperately pondering a way to get Weirdo Dan Howell out of his dressing room, _stat! -_ cranes his neck over Dan’s giant head and smiles at the frame he’s referring to.

“Oh! That’s my brother and sister-in-law. Bollocks, I’ve gotta text her now, she’d throw a fit if I didn’t mention the _Almighty Daniel Howell_ calling her  _foxy._ Can I throw in a ‘ravishing’, as well? She’d _brick_ herself.”

Dan laughs softly, and Phil resolutely decides it’s one of the nicest sounds he’s heard in his life.

“Call her a real _stunner_. And give me a ring, will you, if she’s ever looking for love again?”

“You’re _gay,_ ” Phil deadpans. Like the piece of news didn’t actually revolutionise his twenties - or at least made his secret wanking to Dan Howell a lot more acceptable in his head. “Pretty sure you’re out of the calling list entirely.”

“Bisexual. What about yours, hmm? Your,” he edges closer, “ _calling list_?”

This _is_ flirting, Phil’s sure of it now, but having Dan Howell - resident lothario, if the rubbish tabloids are anything to go by - flirt with him so brazenly sort of cheapens their otherwise pleasant conversation. Christ, Phil’s his _co-worker_ for the next few hours - the _least_ Dan could do was to keep it in his pants. Even if Phil would’ve preened under the attention of such an attractive man had circumstances been different.

“Uh,” Phil says, hoping he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “No thanks?”

Dan looks slighted, taken aback, but he schools his features considerably. “Oh, a _challenge_ , then? I’m always up for that,” he says, like Phil’s a _game_ to be won - what a fucking asshole, Phil thinks, mouth agape.

“Not, um. _No._ In fact, _never._ Get your hand off me,” his voice bellows, shrugging off Dan’s hand on his right elbow and getting up. “Don’t talk to me like that _again_.” He hopes he sounds assertive, though, it’s much more polite than he would be in a pub in say, Surrey, with a handsy drunk bothering him.

This is Dan Howell. So be it if he can’t be professional; Phil bloody well can have enough for the both of them. Right then, as Dan’s staring at Phil - confusedly, like he’s never been turned down so abruptly before - and Phil’s quietly fuming near the racks, there’s a rap on the door. Marty from Idaho, their stage guy.

“Hey guys, uh, show’s kind of starting, so.” He clicks his tongue.

“All right, thanks Mar.” He turns to Dan. “ _Ready_ , Mr. Howell?” Phil asks, icy tone. He’s almost relieved at that, if the show starts, the show will end, and there won’t be a Dan Howell in his life again. Wet dreams notwithstanding. Dan seems shaken out of his reverie, looking apologetic? Nervous?

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan shakes himself. “Let’s do this.”

 

-

 

It’s slightly unnerving having Dan sit beside him for their short _interview_ before his performance. ( _Don’t call it an_ _interview_ , Ben had said, _too formal a word. Why don’t we call it, ‘A Chat with Dan In A Hat’, and have him actually wear a fedora! Wicked!_ ) Hat-less, Dan looks even more stunning under the bright beam of stage lights, his pale pink lips inviting as they form words, his cheeks a legit Freckle Fest from his time in Ghana recently.

“And how did writing there help your creative process?” Phil asks, like the dutiful host he is. He hopes he doesn’t sound too bored when he watches this back in editing. It’s just - he’s used to, well, _less_ _popular_ guests, is all.

And he _likes_ it that way - even if their studio execs think he’s only catching the small fish because he’s a “right idiot”. It’s just - he _wants_ the small fish, he _wants_ the random indie groups, wide-eyed and bushy tailed, wondering if this might _actually_ be their big break. He wants the _struggle_ \- the hopeless optimism, much like he had when moving to London, broke and desperate. He gravitates towards these people, and now that he _has_ the platform to help them, he’s expected not to?

Dan, he promises himself, would be the first and _last_ established superstar guest, ratings be damned. As far as he knows, Dan Howell was plucked out of obscurity at age twenty, approached by a music producer after finishing a gig in Manchester - curly haired, dimpled cheeks and all. He was a star by 21, out of the closet at 24 and now, 26, he’s at the point where he’s trusted to choose _his own_ appearances - why it has led Dan _here_ is a question Phil couldn’t begin to answer. He suspects Dan just wanted a pretty face to talk to, but, Dan mentioned YouTube and watching him there. That must’ve been almost a _decade_ ago.

Dan doesn’t _struggle,_ is Phil’s point. (His mind asks, _does any wealthy white male with ample privilege_ struggle?) He chased his passion, got out of middle-class Wokingham early, and never turned back. When he came out to the general, nasty public, he was hailed a _bisexual icon._ How does that happen?

Dan replies, “Ghana wasn’t as much of a creative outlet as it was a - well, sure, we wrote a couple of songs - but that wasn’t as _gratifying_ \- oh, fancy word - as the charity projects we were involved in for the two months we were there. Not many of you know this,” his body tilting to the audience now, “but my team and I were part of building schools and low-cost housing in rural Ghana for the underprivileged. Half of the sale of my ‘Daniel Howell’ merchandise went into helping these non-profit agencies.”

There was pin drop silence, awe-like, in the studio. From the corner of his eye, Phil could see Ben frantically flipping through the pages of their script - Phil knew he wouldn’t find anything, of course, because Dan was going entirely _off_ it. This is the first Phil (and the world) has heard of any charity mission by Dan in rural West Africa, and frankly, he’s incredibly _impressed._

Because he can’t help himself, he asks curiously, “Why is this cause important to you?”

Dan’s responding smile is tight. “Uh, well. My family - I grew up in a lower middle class family. We were far from impoverished but I know what it’s like to be in a store and not be able to afford the nice soap, y’know, or new toys. I can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up without a roof over my head and have to learn my ABCs in a small hut. I can’t imagine that quality of life - but I hope now, with this contribution, more of our siblings in Africa won’t have to.”

There’s a beat of silence before the audience is on their feet and cheering loudly. Loud is a bit of an understatement; Phil’s sure the group of fans in the front row are about to blow their heads from how intensely they’re screeching. Marvin, the dude-boss who’s somehow always in a heinously ill-fitting suit, practically has dollar signs imprinted in his eyeballs. Phil knows what this means, of course. News about _Dan Howell_ breaking on Phil’s show? Press for Dan, ratings for Phil, the whole shebang.

What Phil’s actually thinking about? _Dan,_ just - _all_ of him. How he’s an entire conglomeration of Good and downright Dickish and incredibly Hot at any given moment. Phil’s having trouble reconciling this personality with the one that was halfway to groping him in his dressing room. Which was his _true_ personality, Phil still isn’t able to tell.

Phil shakes himself a bit, the crowd dies down, and Dan looks at him expectantly. Like looking for his validation, perhaps? Or to say, _yeah_ ,  _and you turned_ me _down an hour ago_? Whatever it is, Phil has a job to do.

“That’s um - aces? Yeah, really nice of you. Uh, alright, we’re wrapping up the show today with a very special performance from the one and only, Dan Howell! I know you’re excited, mates, and here it is: Living My Truth - without Kendrick because unfortunately, we don’t really have the budget for that.”

Dan laughs with the audience, takes his place in front of the mic, and well, he _sings._

 

-

 

Peej texts him as taping ends and asks if he wants to go out for a pint that night. It’s nearing four, and if they start the opening monologue for the next show _now_ (like proper start, not watch-cat-videos-first-with-Paul start) he’d probably be able to swing by the pub on the way home. It’s not like he drinks often - he’s more of a sweet sangria kinda guy, which Peej gives him _absolute_ shit for- but after a day like the one he’s had, he figures a shot or two would cure it.

To his surprise, Dan catches him on the way to the writer’s room (a glorified closet space, really).

“Dan?” Phil asks, scratches his neck absently. “Uh, thanks for the great performance. It was - ” he mimics a head explosion and subsequently pretends to flutter his lashes and faint. Dan smirks like he’s amused but he doesn’t get that it’s not a joke - Phil’s _pretty_ sure he saw one of Dan’s fans actually collapse earlier.

“Thanks. Uh, yeah. Wanna apologise for the whole - y’know. Hitting on you. Not cool.” Dan seems to be saying random words but Phil appreciates the sentiment all the same.

Phil shrugs. “Yeah. Ok.” He doesn’t really know what to say. _Thanks for apologising? Because you were a twat and should therefore apologise?_ Phil can’t look him in the eye, and Dan somehow takes it as his cue to leave suddenly because he’s mumbling something and walking quickly in the other direction.

“Hey, Dan!” he calls out. _Bad,_ baddddd  _idea incoming._ “My mate and I are hitting the pub later. You’re welcome to it if you fancy a cheap pint and an overly excited Film student.”

Dan visibly freezes in his steps and whirls around. “Y’serious?”

Phil shrugs, cheeks pink. “Yeah? I mean - my mate will probably stare at you for a good half hour but he’s a big laugh when he’s got a few drinks in ‘im.”

“And you - _you_ want me there?” Dan asks warily.

Phil’s a bit shaken by the change in tone from before. If before he met Confident Dan with an arsenal of pick up lines and a history of shags behind him, this is the _opposite._ Shy, and stuttery. Worried about invading Phil’s personal space. _Well you didn’t care before, did you,_ Phil bites back the initial retort.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want you there, mate. C’mon, it’ll be good fun.” He can’t _believe_ himself; trading his usual distaste for mainstream artists for a chance at a friendship with Dan. In the back of his mind, he notes that he doesn’t really _care_.

“Ok! Ok,” Dan says, perking up but then trying to act nonchalant. It looks exactly like the face Phil made when he was trying to make a good impression in front of his colleagues but then Research Assistant Marvin announced the release of the new Zelda game. Phil _freaked_ \- to put it lightly.

“Text me about it?” Dan says quickly, walking away when he gets a phone call.

It takes a solid two minutes for Phil to mentally think, _Wait! I don’t have your number!_

_Oh, bollocks._


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “’s not my fault that their caramel macchiatos cost a bomb,” Dan mumbles under his breath before, louder and more Dan, he says, “Hey, bet you’re the type to buy quirky outfits from like, Topman, and re-wear the same shirt 200 times.”
> 
> And Phil frowns because Dan’s absolutely _right._
> 
> Or, friends, but not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took entirely too long, but please blame the universe for kicking me right in the ass. life's been....stressful....but this story is still very exciting to write, and please don't hate me for trying to drag it on longer than initially expected. thank you for all the love on the first chapter, it means more than words can say.
> 
> this is an interlude. a blip somewhere between one state and another.

 

Dan gesticulates wildly when he talks. 

His arms flail, slender fingers stay suspended in the air and twitching slightly - made worse when he talks at length about something he’s  _ really  _ passionate about. Which, at the current moment, is how underrated Kanye West is as an artist. Granted, it’s not something Phil necessarily thinks about as he tries to fall asleep at night, but, that’s ok. He’ll roll with it.

“Like  _ boohoo _ he interrupted T on stage, that was a turd move - God, what I would give to have been there myself - but like, he also is such a conceptual artist, y’know, and the way he delivers his lyrics,  _ godddd _ ,” Dan says. Moans, more accurately. Phil wonders if Dan gets off on the idea of Kanye getting the respect he deserves. If he does, he’s not going to question it. Actually, he’s trying not to question much of how the night’s developing.

The thing is, Phil is more of a social drinker. He sips his margarita politely as he makes small talk with the show’s producers because that’s kind of his  _ job  _ \- and if he has to sit through boring conversation, social lubricant via some strong alcohol does  _ wonders _ to his chirpiness. The only time he entertains beer and chips (like a proper Englishman) is when Peej texts, or when his brother’s in town and wants to watch late night footie in the pub - because why would  _ Phil _ , of all people, have Sky  _ Sports _ on the telly, Martyn?

The pub scenario, however, doesn’t take into account a very charming, sort of tipsy Musical Genius ( _ his _ words, not Phil’s) who’s on his third drink, looking practically  _ sinful _ as he works his chapped bottom lip between his teeth and hollows his cheeks as he sucks on the straw of his cocktail.

That’s a whole new ball game entirely.

Phil, in response to all  _ that, _ has consumed twice his usual for a work-the-next-morning pub night. But he insists he’s not  _ reaaallyyy  _ drunk - he  _ just  _ wants to buy Dan some raspberry lip balm, and bring him to his house, and tuck him into his bed. PJ and his snide looks in Phil’s direction can go fuck themselves, as far as _ Very Sober _ Phil is concerned.

“I’ve seen Kanye once, I think,” Phil says, clearing his throat. He hasn’t spoken in a while - Dan seeming perfectly content in conjuring random points of conversation from thin air and talking about them,  _ at length _ \- and his throat feels raspy from the alcohol. “Are his jumpers  _ supposed  _ to look that… potato sack-y?”

Dan blanches.

“Excuse me!” he gasps, loud enough that even PJ - far off and chatting up a curly-haired blonde - startles a little. “I  _ own _ that jumper, costed me fifty quid and all. Real aesthetic, if you ask me,” Dan huffs, crossing his arms on his chest and trying to look indignant. He looks like a cute disgruntled kitten, Phil Very Soberly thinks.

“Fifty quid? That’s like chum change for you, innit? I bet you spend more on cups of  _ coffee _ at Starbucks,” Phil teases, sipping more of his fruity drink. It’s nearing ten and he better get home soon before anarchy descends tomorrow when the rest of the crew find out he had  _ drinks with Dan Howell.  _ Forget the crew,  _ Ben _ will  _ skin  _ him the moment he walks into the studio tomorrow.

He knows that he can’t pretend otherwise; Dan posted a shot of the  _ dewy drops on the pub windows  _ (because he’s utterly pretentious like that - also, alliteration? Some linguistics thing Phil doesn’t remember from university?) on his Instagram, and Phil’s reflection can vaguely be seen in the bottom right corner. Also, not so vaguely, Dan had tagged him in the post.  _ Fantastic. _

“’s not  _ my _ fault that their caramel macchiatos cost a bomb,” Dan mumbles under his breath before, louder and more  _ Dan _ , he says, “Hey, bet  _ you’re  _ the type to buy quirky outfits from like, Topman, and re-wear the same shirt 200 times.”

And Phil frowns because Dan’s  _ absolutely right. _

Dan realises, head thrown back in laughter, and  _ that neck _ , Jesus. “Point made. Don’t dish out what you can’t take,  _ buddo. _ ” Dan shakes his head. “Christ, I remember picking a fight with one of those paparazzi guys in America and the next morning, I woke up to a - let’s just say,  _ unflattering  _ photo of me on the cover of the New York Times. And then, a bit later, I got a text from an unknown number with  _ just _ those words in the text. Fucking arse.”

Phil asks, quieter, “So the paps give you a hard time, then?”

Dan chuckles bitterly. “Is grass green?”

“I reckon so, but my half dead cacti back home beg to differ,” Phil jokes, revels in the low laugh it elicits out of Dan. The tension is palpable; Phil knows he brought up a sore spot but Dan continues before he can feel the wave of guilt wash over him.

“I guess…” Dan pauses, sighs. “They’re doing their job y’know -  _ they  _ have mouths to feed, kids to raise. But does that give them the right to invade any semblance of privacy I have left? The gray area of journalistic ethics is what my lawyer told me.” Dan shakes his head. “It’s like - I’m a living  _ spectacle  _ and everyone else is just waiting for me to screw up. And if I don’t, they’ll make it  _ seem  _ like I do.”

Phil frowns, takes in the way Dan’s face has fallen and his fingers jittery on the glass in front of him. He  _ can’t imagine _ , is the thing. Even at the height of his mediocre level of fame, Phil would be lucky to be recognised by  _ two  _ people off the street, while he’s sweaty and struggling with balancing groceries on two arms. He can’t imagine not having people around him to trust; his Mum at the forefront of it all, readily equipped with cuddles and freshly baked muffins. In fact, Phil can’t imagine  _ not trusting _ at all - he’s been told he puts blind faith in people regardless of whether they deserve it or not. But then,  _ Charlie _ happened, so, he might not be the same now.

If he’s thinking about his ex while talking to a Grammy winner, he’s definitely doing something wrong, Phil thinks. Lucky thing he’s a  _ comedic talent  _ \- according to the Beeb and his Nan, at least - and is good(ish) at his job.

“Hey Dan, knock knock.”

If Dan’s surprised by the turn in conversation, he doesn’t show it. In fact, the gait in his shoulders relaxes and he lets out half a laugh. Like a loud  _ ha!  _ (Phil’s oddly endeared.) “Who’s there, asshole?”

“Rude. But also, uh. A broken pencil.”

“A broken pencil who?” Dan replies, mouth quirking up as he leans against the palms settled under his chin, and tilts forward.

“Oh. Nevermind, it’s  _ point _ less.”

Dan smacks the palm of his hand against his forehead - very Homer Simpson  _ duh  _ like - and his smile is so wide Phil’s not sure if his eyes still  _ exist  _ beneath the crinkles and puffed cheeks. “God, no wonder you were utter shite on the telly,” Dan says when he recovers, mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Heeyyyy,” Phil says, laughing. He pauses then. “You watched me on the telly?” This is interesting information. YouTube  _ and  _ “utter shite” British comedy. Dan must’ve been  _ some  _ fan.

Dan snorts, taking a timely sip of his drink. “No comment.”

His blush is enough to give it away and Phil feels prouder of  _ this _ than his two degrees from university. Which says  _ a lot  _ about how much Phil values education but - stay in school, kids. Phil smiles, keeping his inner fangirling to himself. Fangirling over a  _ fan _ ? Is that a thing?

“Dan,” Phil says, exasperated.

Dan acquiesces, and Phil supposes it’s the alcohol that gets to him at the end. “Oh, I watched your YouTube for ages,” Dan reveals, nonchalant. Which, ok, this could possibly be the BEST MOMENT OF PHIL’S LACKLUSTRE EXISTENCE - but nonchalant, Phil can do that too.

“You did?” Phil asks, narrowly avoiding choking on his drink.

Dan hums. “I fancied myself a YouTuber for awhile, too. 2009ish, if I remember correctly. But I started watching your stuff in 2007 - you had  _ really _ bad hair then, did anyone tell you - and I suppose you inspired me to start creating my own content. You were just so...smiley, and  _ happy _ about everything. Dunno, it was nice to watch.” Dan shrugs and downs his drink in one go, like  _ he’s  _ embarrassed about watching Phil’s weirdo phase immortalised on YouTube.

Back then, Phil thinks he didn’t tell a soul about his channel, about sitting down on his carpet for thirty minutes every few days or so to chat about life, to perform a sketch or be his random self for all of the Internet to see. It wasn’t a  _ big deal _ then - a YouTuber holding no more weight popularity-wise than a meteorologist in the depths of the Sumatran jungle. No one wanted to  _ know _ , much less wanted to  _ care,  _ so for it is still a bit jarring for Phil to realise the actual  _ extent  _ of his fan base then. How far it reached, and how his videos actually affected his viewers.

“Oh,” Phil exhales.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Dan mimics, smirking wildly, his eyes glinting. “Well, anyway, I was just a fanboy. And look how the tables have turned,” Dan says, gesturing to the slightly winded look on Phil’s face, still recovering from the confession.

PJ takes that moment then to saunter back to their table, grin on his face and pocketing his phone with - what Phil suspects - a new lady friend’s number in it. “Wowwww,” PJ drawls, slumping next to Phil, “I’ve still  _ got it _ , mate.” He holds out his hand for a high five, which Phil resolutely ignores, and Dan watches the banter with a small smile.

“What, did you pull the ‘ _ oh I’m a struggling art student who wears hipster glasses, I’m the coolest!!’  _ shtick, then?” Phil teases. “Pretty sure you’ve been a student for like a decade, mate, y’re not fooling anyone.”

Dan raises an eyebrow. “You guys went to uni together?”

PJ cuts Phil off before he can respond - clearly riding high off the excess adrenaline if he’s talking to _Dan Howell_ without trembling a bit - and says, “Mate, we’ve been friends for ages, me and Philly Stick Up His Butt.” He continues flawlessly even when Phil jabs him in the gut (impressive, tbh), “Met him the first week, yeah? _It’s the tail end of induction week when two emos meet in a club,_ is what our joint eulogy will say!”

“Why are you proud of that,” Phil mumbles at PJ when him and Dan laugh heartily. There’s much to love about PJ Liguori, but also _too much_ to hate. If Phil feels the tendrils of jealousy at the sight of PJ and Dan getting on like a house on fire, then, it’s the friend kind. Y’know the feeling when two of your mates become mates _themselves_ and take duo trips up to Manchester when you’re ill? (Only Phil?? Alright then.)

“I’m doing a doctorate in post-production film at the moment, but with Phil as my sole celebrity contact, I’m a bit -” PJ’s voice drops down to a stage whisper, “ _ fucked _ , haha.” PJ says as they’re getting up to leave, exchanging numbers with Dan ( _ it’s to spill the goss about you, duckling,  _ Dan had teased) and grabbing his and Phil’s coats.

“I can imagine - Phil’s so out of the loop he didn’t even  _ recognise  _ me earlier,” Dan jokes, bumping his shoulder good-naturedly against Phil’s. Phil isn’t sure what’s happening, if he’s honest. He doesn’t know if this kind of friendly outing would happen again, but he knows that he’d  _ like  _ to. But as far as he’s concerned, the ball is very much in Dan’s court now.

“Uh,” he says awkwardly when Dan’s gesturing for a taxi and Phil is hovering behind him, not wanting to leave his company yet. The night is still relatively young, Phil is definitely woozy and is bound for a real good night’s rest, and Dan’s the popstar who Phil might not meet again. Simple realities that exist within this sphere; this anomaly of a day. “Nice to meet you?”

Dan laughs. “You too, mate. Take care? I’ll be in New York by morning, so can’t be around to save you from your clumsy, flailing limbs,” Dan says, gesturing to how Phil accidentally trips on his shoelaces when Dan moves to give him a hug. It’s a warm embrace - short, because they technically  _ are  _ strangers and Phil’s pretty sure he hated Dan two seconds ago - and it’s really fucking good.

“See ya, Dan. Go woo some teenage girls for me.” Phil pauses. “Uh. That...came out wrong.”

Dan snorts,  _ bet it did _ , before he’s off.

 

-

 

The next time Phil hears the name  _ Dan Howell  _ (teasing by Ben and Paul notwithstanding), it’s three months later and he’s in actual  _ Hollywood  _ \- so, it’s to be expected, really. Phil’s across the pond for the Grammy Awards, where he’s hosting the technical awards the night before. He’s also managed to snag a seat for the  _ actual  _ awards show, and he’s feeling pretty good about himself all things considered. So, yeah, when he hears Dan’s name from random crew members, it reiterates the fact that he’s actually in Hollywood, and that he knows  _ the  _ Dan Howell - but he swears he won’t name drop unless he’s tongue tied and face-to-face with George Ezra or  _ Sam Smith _ , holy hell.

The technical awards pass in a blink of an eye, in a flurry of jokes and stressing over pronouncing big-time producers’ names right and trying not to awkwardly make eye contact with the old lady winking at him from the front row. All in all, it goes well, and Phil’s quite proud of himself and his team. His manager, Louise, practically drags him into a massive hug and swiftly coerces him into attending a top secret after,  _ After _ Party at Beyoncé’s - what the fuck. How is this Phil’s life?

He meets Beyoncé. Nice.

He meets Jay Z, and narrowly avoids calling him  _ bro. _

He meets Blue Ivy, and she doesn’t cry in his presence. Or vice versa.

_ Is this what real success feels like? _ , Phil wonders.

And then, he meets Dan Howell, and that goes -  _ well,  _ you'll see.

“Daniel Howell, what a pleasure,” Phil says with a smile, sidesteps  _ R.Kelly  _ to stand directly in front of Dan and revels in the slight height difference between them both. “Funny, I recall giving you my number but I guess texting is foreign to you,” Phil jokes, not betraying the fact that he spent weeks desperately glued to his phone lest Dan texted him with a random doggo picture or a friendly  _ wat r u up 2 *alien emoji*.  _ The text, not to anyone’s surprise, never came.

Dan laughs. “Didn’t know you  _ wanted  _ me to text in the first place. But, sure, I’ll slot you into my texting schedule, between Grimmy and Chris.”

Phil’s eyes bulge, his jaw drops. “Hemsworth or Evans?”

Dan raises his eyebrows in confusion. “Uhhh, Kendall?”

“YouTuber Chris? Y’know him?” Phil asks, feeling slightly betrayed at the lack of prior knowledge of this. Chris - the same Chris who comes over every other weekend to raid Phil’s fridge and make a hopeless pass at PJ -  _ knows _ Dan? God, he’s pretty sure he  _ told  _ Chris about how delectable he finds Dan. Godddddd.

“Why am I not surprised that you know him? YouTubers of a feather flock together or something, innit?” Dan asks.

Phil snorts. “He’s my best mate. Shame he never mentioned you, though - or did you flirt with him, too,” Phil says absently, watching in horror as words he never meant tumble out and Dan visibly winces. Residual bitterness seeps out of him and all he feels is resounding guilt. “Sor-”

“I thought I  _ apologised  _ for that,” Dan bites out with gritted teeth. “‘sides, too many actual  _ good _ interviews in the States that I kinda forgot you existed tbh,” Dan retaliates, lips downturn.

“Good interviews to compensate for your  _ shit _ album, innit?” Phil says back immediately. It’s the worst thing Phil’s said to someone in a long while - since Year Eight and saying aloud that Ian’s growing mustache kinda looked like fungus. But then, Phil remembers grovelling at his feet for a solid two weeks before Ian accepted the apology and agreed to come over to finish their level of Bubble Bobble.

“The shit album that earned more in a  _ week _ than you will do in your lifetime, mate,” Dan says flippantly, downing his drink. “Facts only.”

Phil doesn’t get riled up easily, but from the very first time he met Dan on set, the man has only been able to do just that. Phil doesn’t get it - how a conversation can go from zero to a hundred like that with Dan, and the change in pace is exhausting, if he’s honest.

Dan doesn’t look like the type to back down, so Phil interrupts before he makes matters worse.

“Look...I didn’t mean it like that,” Phil says quietly. “I’ve just - it’s been a long day, yeah? I’m knackered. I think I’ll head back to the hotel in a bit,” he decides, running a hand through the quiff he has recently been sporting. His forehead feels bare now and there’s a bit of sweat trickling uncomfortably down, and yeah, he needs a good shower and sleep. If only to forget the run-in with Dan ever happened.

“Hey,” Dan says, softly gripping Phil’s forearm as he turns. “‘s late. Let me walk with you.” Phil’s confused because hello?? Didn’t they  _ just _ argue?? But there’s a tinge of apology in his eyes (Phil could be imagining that) but his tone  _ is _ pleading and Phil doesn’t fancy walking back alone in the city that’s  _ this _ foreign to him, where he feels out of place in more ways than one.

Phil shrugs,  _ sure _ , but conversation is stilted as they walk and Phil makes no move to initiate it.

“Sorry for whatever that was back there. You reminded me of how much of a twat I was when I met you, and that - well, I apologise again. Sorry,” Dan says abruptly, as they walk down Vine Street, and right to Fountain Avenue. It’s a breezy night in California and Phil burrows further into his tux and coughs into the crook of his right arm.

Phil nods. He revels in the silence that follows. Phil turns to him after a few paces. “Truce?”

Dan smiles. “Yeah, truce. How’s the show going? Didn’t manage to ask earlier because of the whole  _ hoo-ha  _ back there. The one we shall erase from our memories in three, two…”

They both laugh, mime a sweeping gesture off their foreheads.  _ Clean slate _ , Phil thinks.

“Phil?” Dan asks, and he wonders how long he had been staring at Dan’s zipper boots.

“Oh, the show! Alright, I guess? We’re three quarters of the way through it now and things are  _ great _ ,” Phil says, cracking a small smile. The ratings have been better than expected and Boss Men In Big Swivelly Office Chairs seem happy, Phil thinks. Or as happy as they can look hidden behind thick beards and perpetual frowns.

“I lied before. Your show is  _ good _ , mate. Haven’t been keeping up but Mum tells me you’re an absolute hit in my household,” Dan says. “She even  _ records _ your shows to watch them back later, how  _ embarrassing _ ,” Dan says, nudging his elbow into Phil’s ribs. Phil laughs, the dark doing much to conceal the way he’s blushing, and inches closer to the body beside him.

“Not the  _ only _ Howell to fancy me, yeah?” Phil says, shaking his head quickly. They’re veering into a topic Phil isn’t ready for yet and so he changes the topic swiftly. “Y’re excited tomorrow for the big show? Performing  _ again _ ?”

Dan’s cheeks are oddly pink when Phil turns to him.

“I resent your tone,” Dan says at Phil’s exasperation. “But...yes. You gotta do what you gotta do, especially when you’re world famous like  _ moí _ ,” Dan laughs, flipping non-existent long hair off his shoulder. Dan continues, even when Phil tries to trip him on the pavement, “After this ‘m heading back home to Londontown for a bit of a break. Been in LA far too long, I seem to be picking up the mannerisms like:  _ hey pal wanna get a beer in the bar and watch the  _ Packers _? _ ” Dan’s exaggerated American accent is strangely  _ accurate _ ? Thus adding to the long list of things Dan’s just  _ naturally _ good at - ugh.

“When are you heading home?” Dan asks a beat after, eyeing Phil’s side profile intently.

“Tomorrow morning, actually,” Phil replies, eyes brightening. “Mum’s sixtieth birthday  _ extravaganza  _ is nighttime, so it’ll be a mixture of jet lag and too much rum for me.”

“Oh, before the show? Wait, Foxy Redhead will be there?” Dan grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Slip her my number, don’t you forget, I have quite the fancy for red - pretty sure I liked the red Teletubby when I was younger. A bit  _ too  _ much if you ask me,” Dan says and Phil can’t help but burst out into laughter, tongue peeking out and all.

Phil nudges him in the ribs, still smiling. “Yep, won’t be watching you shake your booty on stage, unfortunately. Also,  _ Gross _ . Is that when you discovered you were a furry then? At age four and sat in front of CBBC at half four every evening?” Dan blushes. “Knew it!” Phil exclaims, and wholly deserves the slap on the arm that he gets.

Realisation creeps up on Dan’s face. “And how did’ja hear that about me, hmmm? Perhaps in that GQ interview I did in 2014 with me on the cover - also the one time I ever remember talking freely about my,” he drops his voice even though there’s no one else around, and whispers right into Phil’s ear, “ _ kinks? _ ”

Phil shivers in sudden arousal and the tips of his ears go bright pink. He stutters a reply even though there’s no way around the conversation. Phil quickly looks around him for an escape - a car speeding down the road, maybe? A nearby cliff to hurl himself off? Nope. Ok.

Without an escape, he takes to formulating a vague response.

“Uh. Well. Uhm.” _Well_ _done_ , Phil. Truly the epitome of eloquence. “I might’ve read it once. In the doctor’s office. When I was getting my….prostate examined.” Phil cringes at his own words, pretty sure his flush has extended everywhere over his body. Dan laughs, loud enough to wake up any B-List celebrity living in the small flats, and even slaps his knee twice.

“You’re something else, Phil,” Dan says; _fondly_ , Phil thinks it can be sensibly interpreted as. “ _Dan_ _Stan_ , were you? Happens to the best of us, mate,” Dan teases, knocking his shoulder amicably into his.

“Only in it for the rhyme, mate,” Phil retorts, holding Dan’s elbow lightly as he steers him left onto the street his hotel’s on. The bright lights ahead seem like a finishing line - and Phil doesn’t really want to end the conversation yet. A clear 180 shift from the iciness of before, wholly Phil’s doing and entirely unwarranted. “Listen, for before, I -”

“Nothing to apologise for,” Dan preempts, scuffing his shoe on the ground. “To be honest with you, I picked up my phone to text you while on tour, but. Dunno, it’s like, you’re  _ different _ , y’know. Technically you’re part of the press but you feel like a genuine friend. God knows I need more of those in my life,” Dan sighs. “So, yes, I wanted to text. I was just -  _ scared  _ of scaring  _ you  _ off? I can be...intense at the worst of times.”

Phil stops him. “I consider you a friend as well. I don’t know you very well, admittedly, but you seem like a good lad, yeah? Let’s forget the rest and give friendship a go. How’s that sound?”

Dan grins wide as they stop near the front doors. He looks  _ bashful _ , almost, like he relieved and excited all at once. It breaks Phil’s heart to think that Dan doesn’t have friends for fear of his personality, his persona, his  _ life _ , scaring them off - but Phil resolves to be one. The  _ best one.  _ Dan’s not going to know what hit him.

“Achievement unlocked: Stage 1, proclamation of friendship,” Dan narrates, and Phil laughs, taking a step inwards and away from his new friend. There’s an awkward beat of should we hug? Bro-fist? They hugged the last time but alcohol makes Phil a tactile person, and right now, there’s not enough in his system to initiate physical contact beyond a light touch to Dan’s waist.

“Stage 1? What’s stage 2? Marriage and babies?” Phil asks, as Dan’s stepping back also seemingly conflicted in hug or no hug. They’ve settled on the latter for  _ now _ , Phil thinks, itching for when they’re comfortable enough to hug  _ all the time _ . And maybeeee have sex, at some point.

But, friends. Right.

Dan turns back to the street, winks over his shoulder. “We’ll see, Philip, we’ll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my writing style is rather unorthodox, so hearing your comments always reassure me that i'm doing the right things. please leave a comment or kudos below (or on twitter & tumblr @phanetixs) if you're still with me on this ride. believe me, i have Big things planned - that hopefully will be on here within the 2018 calendar year. love you!!

**Author's Note:**

> i'll try to update as frequently as i can! 
> 
> let me know if you're enjoying it - or just want to hit me up with cool ideas - down below or on twitter or tumblr @phanetixs. have a great day!


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